Back in the late '90s, a weird thing transpired at my school paper.

I was a couple of weeks into my role as a designer, but by then, of course, my editor and I were essentially living together. Never underestimate just how turbocharged skills get when you’re trying to outdo the person you’re fucking. (We seriously wallpapered the bedroom with layouts once we formally got a place together.)

One other thing to point out is there was an unusual situation in the power dynamic above me. It turned out my girlfriend’s best friend was … the editor-in-chief.

He took a liking to me upon seeing his “Cheesy Poof” happy.

The third leg of the stool arrived about a week later. I won’t say his name, but his mailbox tag ended up with a handwritten “Simply Irresistible” note on it that I had no part in. (He’d later be my best man at my first wedding.)

At this point in time, we had to drive the pasted-up flats to a printer in downtown Seattle. This had been – up to that point – a mere drop-off.

The “we” should inform what comes next.

The design desk, consisting of me, her and him, inadvertently got thrown into not just production but administration.

I was in the editor’s office, and for some reason I don’t remember, just ahead of him needing to drive the flats, he mentioned being hungry and brought up Kozy Shack pudding. I asked if that was really what he wanted, and he said, “No, I need more. Something Beefy. A Beefy House.”

And that was the night all three of us got in the Daily car (a piece of shit Ford that later inspired the inside joke “SPARE!”), went down to the printer, and then went to a 24-hour joint on Denny that now appears to be closed.

Beefy House was born. There ended up being many Beefy Heis (the editor’s plural), including Beth’s, The Hurricane and Denny’s in a pinch.

The sort of absurdity one can only do in college ensued. We had the editor (well versed in Robert’s Rules of Order) dining nightly with the production editor and two people less than a month into the industry.

In time, Beefy House became an amalgamation of a joke and actually doing things under the guise of a joke. We had quorum rules and everything after bitching about something that had happened at the paper that day.

With a quorum (not always guaranteed, as we roped in the copy chief) and majority vote, items passed by Beefy House went to the publisher.

(I’m pretty sure that’s how I landed on his radar – a decade later, he’d drive me two hours to an interview.)

Such a weird set of circumstances to lead me into the field.

Also, I miss being able to go out nightly on journalism wages.